Not Just Any Bolt Hole
by milkforthesouffles
Summary: Another collection of mostly romantic and cheeky short stories, drabbles, text chats and more about Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes (previously posted on my tumblr: Sherlockadoresmolly). Enjoy!
1. Pocket Aces

**PROMPT:**

Molly, Mycroft, Anthea and Molly's bodyguard (and fake fiancé) play poker every Friday night. They place bets, (like how long will it take everyone else to figure out Tom's gay and is actually Molly's body guard.) Most of the time Molly wins-and it's usually half of everyone's pay checks she gets. By the time Mary figured out that Tom was gay (but didn't figure out he was a bodyguard) Molly was a millionaire-close to billionaire from all the poker nights.

-x-x-x-

_Nice headcanon! I've continued from here to involve Sherlock. Slight tweaks on the amounts of her winnings. Go Molly!_  
—

**Pocket Aces**

"Hello dear brother," Mycroft sauntered slowly into Molly's flat. "What a surprise to see you here. So good of you to answer the door. And, in _nothing_ but a tea towel no less."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and spat out a witty insult. He'd never be able to live it down. He closed the door behind his older brother keeping the floral tea towel securely over his nethers.

"Molly!" Sherlock grudgingly called out.

"I hope I wasn't interrupting anything?" Mycroft arched an eyebrow as his lips curled into a smile.

Sherlock pursed his lips and inhaled deeply through his nose. He couldn't remember a time he'd ever lost this badly at a game that was all but made for him to win. He could read players like a book. It was child's play. A dull afternoon at his favorite bolt hole with his favorite pathologist had needed a little livening up. He'd dazzle Molly with his skills at reading players and bluffing. But, he had taught his pupil too well.

"Mycroft," Molly stepped out from the bathroom in the hallway. "You're early! Tea?"

"Please," he bent down and lightly pecked both Molly's cheeks earning a soft growl from his brother. "Did you bake?"

"But, of course!" Molly winked. "Your favorites."

Mycroft happily bounded towards the cookie jars on the counter where he knew he'd find some tasty things to nibble on.

"You were expecting him?" Sherlock scowled.

"Uh-huh," Molly nodded as she put the kettle on the stove.

"Let me guess," Mycroft popped a bite-sized cookie into his mouth. "You had a friendly wager over a game of cards."

He glanced at the coffee table which was strewn with cards. He let out a hearty chuckle as Sherlock flushed with embarrassment. The redness bloomed down his bare chest to his navel.

"What do they call it?" He exaggeratedly tapped his chin. "Ah, yes. 'Strip poker'."

Molly giggled as Sherlock rolled his eyes again at his brother's thinly veiled attempts to bait him.

"She lied." The consulting detective tried to cross his arms but realized he wouldn't be able to hold his towel properly if he did. "She has played the game before."

"I didn't lie!" Molly feigned hurt. "You simply said, 'It's not terribly complicated. I think you'll be able to catch on'."

"And, you suggested the stakes?" Mycroft's eyes twinkled at Molly with mischief.

Molly smirked and shrugged her shoulders, "I may have made a suggestion or two."

"For the last time," Sherlock ground his teeth. "May I, at least, have my coat so that I can go home with a little dignity?"

"You bet the Belstaff?" Mycroft was shocked.

"He really shouldn't have gone 'all-in'," Molly tutted as she retrieved the teapot.

"And pray tell, what were the hands?"

"He went in heavy with pocket aces and pushed all-in on the turn." Before Sherlock could answer, Molly jumped in surprising him even more than he'd already been."I had a full house. Eights full of Queens."

"Your favorite hand, my dear." Mycroft clapped. "Well done!"

Sherlock's jaw-dropped, but he couldn't have predicted the shock that was to come.

"Before I forget- which I often do," Mycroft pulled out an envelope from his inside jacket pocket. "The swiss account details. Everything is in order."

"Thank you!" Molly beamed and placed a kiss on Mycroft's cheek.

"What is going on?" Sherlock demanded. "In one afternoon, I have been hustled and stripped. Am I to believe you two are laundering money to international untraceable accounts as well?!"

"Don't be silly, Sherlock." Mycroft sipped his tea. "It's only a few million pounds."

Sherlock growled and launched himself at his brother. He grabbed his collar and shook him.

"What have you gotten Molly mixed up in!?"

"Sherlock!" Molly grabbed his arm. "Stop that!"

Mycroft peeled Sherlock's hand off him and dusted off his collar.

"Her winnings," he smiled proudly. "They're her winnings from our weekly poker games though we are on a break for now. She cleared everyone out. I took the liberty of opening an investment account for her."

"Who else?" Sherlock asked intrigued.

"Anthea, Tom, a few of my other staff. One or two of my employers on occasion. She's really the best poker player I've ever encountered. MI6 could benefit from a person with skills such as hers."

Sherlock couldn't believe his ears. He turned and eyed Molly, his sweet, yet spitfired pathologist who was biting her thumb to keep from giggling. He had underestimated her once again. She had bested him and he'd no idea how far the deception ran until now. She'd strung him along and divested every single piece of clothing on his back while making him think it was sheer beginner's luck.

And, it was the sexiest thing anyone had ever done in his presence. Hands down.

"And that," Mycroft saw the looks being shared by the only other people in the room. "Is my cue to leave post haste. See you soon, Molly. Sherlock."

The door clicking shut went unnoticed by both Molly and Sherlock. And, the tea towel lay discarded on the floor where he had dropped it just before he scooped her up and took her to the bedroom to illustrate just how impressed he really was.


	2. Camping, Anyone?

**PROMPT:**

Molly Hooper went camping-once. (it was to help Sherlock, John, on a case.-Her and Mary and baby Watson were brought along to pose as a family going on a trip.) She ended up being a mosquito magnet, and found out that's she is also allergic to the only bottle of Itch cream Mary brought.

-x-x-x-

"Molly," Sherlock sighed irritably. "Trying to get some sleep here."

"Sorry, I can't help it!" Molly squirmed around in the tiny tent she was forced to share with Sherlock. "I'm so itchy all over and it's driving me crazy."

"What about the itch cream Mary brought?" Sherlock grumbled.

"Can't." She moaned as she desperately scratched her arms and her back. "Allergic. That's what's made this worse! I have rashes all over! And, my antihistamine hasn't kicked in yet either!"

After a few minutes of Molly's frantic scratching and muffled cries of frustration, Sherlock couldn't take it anymore.

"Fine!" He groaned and reached for her. "Come here. Take off your shirt."

"What?!" She hissed as she reared backwards.

Sherlock tugged on the jumper she was wearing to keep warm in the chilly outdoors. Molly tried to smack his hands away while simultaneously scratching her bites and terrible rash.

"Nonono!" Molly felt her face flush. "It's okay!"

"You can't reach your back," Sherlock tackled her. "Let. Me. Help. You."

With her shirt riding up to her shoulders, Sherlock dragged his short nails over her skin trying to be effective but not irritate her sensitized skin.

"Oooooohhh!" Molly keened and went limp. "OH DAMN! Left! Left! YES!"

"Here?" He moved to the spots where he could see redness in the dim light.

"OH, FUUUUUUUUHH… THAT'S IT!" Molly wailed repeatedly. "OH YEAH!"

"Oi!" There was an urgent voice and patting of the tent material from the outside. "We are right next to you two! These walls are fabric!"

"John?"

"Who else?! You're waking up my daughter!"

"DON'T STOP, SHERLOCK! HARDER!"

"John," Sherlock called out while his nails continued to give Molly blessed relief. "Molly has an itch that needs to be scratched!"

"We know!" John threw up his hands in the air. "I think the whole campsite knows by now!"

"YOU ARE A GOD AMONGST MEN, SHERRRRLOCK!"

"Molly," He grunted trying to reach around her. "This would be so much easier if I just took off your clothes!"

"YES! TAKE IT ALL OFFFFF!"

"Oh Christ!" John rubbed his eyes wearily. "Fuck this case. Mary! We're leaving!"


	3. Not My Phone

**Not My Phone**

"Move over," Sherlock mumbled as he nudged her shoulder.

"I am _over_, Sherlock!" Molly grumbled and snuggled deeper into her sleeping bag. "I'm already right up against the tent!"

Molly was severely regretting agreeing to help Sherlock on his latest case just to spend some time with him. It was a blisteringly cold night and they were in the middle of a bird sanctuary to catch poachers going after some endangered species that would fetch a pretty penny overseas. Her unrequited crush was going get her into some serious trouble one day.

There was a great rustling of cloth and movement next to her as Sherlock tried to get comfortable. A sliver of moonlight shining through the mesh air vents illuminated the tent enough for Molly to see the consulting detective stand (or rather, crouch) and remove his thick parka in a huff.

"What are doing?" Molly asked concerned. "You're going to get hypothermia without that!"

"We're both going to get hypothermia if we don't do something about it," he growled impatiently. "Now, move over!"

"I AM—"

"No!" He rolled his eyes in the darkness as he set his foam mattress next to Molly and then unzipped the side of her sleeping bag. "Move over. I'm getting in."

"You're what?!" Molly squeaked. "You can't! There isn't enough space!"

Sherlock reached out and physically moved the objecting pathologist over after divesting her of her jacket. Then, he slid into the sleeping bag and zipped it up again.

There were long awkward and uncomfortable moments where they struggled to get comfy before they placed the other sleeping bag and their jackets on top of them both. It was a massively tight fit and Molly had accidentally (maybe) elbowed Sherlock in the stomach once (or twice).

Finally, the pair settled down after finding that spooning was the best position to rest. Molly could feel the body heat emanating from the man behind her and the growing warmth which was pleasantly trapped inside the insulating pile of coats and blankets.

It was a bit strange and disconcerting to be so intimately pressed up against the man you'd been harboring feelings for for so long, but she couldn't deny it was a good idea. It was practical and Molly decided she just needed to be mature about it and get some rest. She should just ignore his warm breath tickling her behind her ear… ignore his arm snugly circled around her waist… ignore the—-

"Sherlock," Molly turned her head towards him and found he was already gazing steadily at her. "Can you take your phone out of your pocket please? It's poking me in the bum."

He coughed and cleared his throat for a moment, but didn't move to retrieve the device. Molly was about to speak up again when she felt his finger tips ghosting her belly where her flannel shirt had ridden up.

"Not my phone, Molly." He buried his nose into her sweet-smelling hair and softly brushed his lips against her neck.

She was so sure that he'd follow up that statement by saying something like it was just a reflex; a reaction to unexpected stimulus. But, he didn't. Instead, he stifled a moan when she shifted to make herself more comfortable.

"Oh," Molly's eyes widened as she blushed and then grinned. "_Oh!_"

This stakeout was going to be _a lot_ more fun than she initially thought.


	4. Three's a Crowd (chat fic)

A/N: This is a chat format story. Enjoy!

-x-x-

**Three's A Crowd**

**.**

Tom awakens in the middle of the night when Molly accidentally nudges him

**Tom:** (groggily) Mmm... Molls, you don't usually like to snuggle when we sleep.

**Molly:** Sorry, just... umm, go back to sleep.

**Tom: **S'ok... I like it *swings arm across Molly*

**Tom:** Are you wearing new pajamas? Silky...

**Sherlock:** Tom, will you kindly stop fondling my nipple.

*lights turn on*

**Tom:** What the hell is he doing here?!

**Molly:** *deer in headlights*

**Sherlock: **Turn out the lights. Some of us are trying to sleep here!

**Tom: **Molly!

**Molly: ***facepalms* Sherlock, I told you not to come over tonight.

**Tom:** Tonight? How often does he come over?!

**Molly:** He just sleeps here! I swear!

**Tom:** How often?

**Sherlock:** *grumbles* Often enough to know she quite enjoys snuggling...

**Tom: **Excuse me?

**Molly:** *crap*


	5. Where You Are (pt 1)

**Where You Are**

Nowadays, Sherlock gets annoyed that Molly's place is referred to as a 'bolt hole'. John and Mary call it that. And, so does Lestrade. They make it sound like a nondescript halfway house with dank walls and a dirty, stripped mattress on a wire frame. He finds that he doesn't like it one bit.

Because, Molly's is the next best thing to 221b. (Maybe it's better, he sometimes thinks.) It's too quiet there. Too hollow. Which is very sad because he's very attached to this flat with its fleur-de-lis wallpaper and well-worn chairs. While Molly's place is always slightly chaotic with her fluffy, patterned _everythings_ and the background music she sometimes shakes her hips to for a few moments when a song gets to a part that she likes. There's all manner of books and journals everywhere along with handmade cushions and pillows and colorful throws on her plush sofa. He'll never admit it, not even upon the threat of torture, but he likes the ridiculously large LED 1080p telly that she splurged half a pay cheque on.

Her place used to be a bit of a headache to tell you the truth. He's not sure when it became something else and he's not sure what that something else is. But, it's definitely not just a 'bolt hole'.

He's not even really there that often. Just when he's bored (never because he's lonely, of course). Or, when he can't sleep. Or, when he can't figure out a case. Or…

Well, he finds that wants to be at her flat because he misses her laugh, the way she always makes him the best things to eat even in the middle of the night, how she thinks up interesting experiments to do with the parts she brings back from the morgue and the way she always says she's just resting her eyes but falls asleep next to him on the sofa without fail.

The shift is gradual and he can handle that. He's pretty sure that Molly enjoys his company as well and she only mildly protests when he lets himself in and wakes her up in the middle of the night to watch a new documentary he got on ancient Egyptian embalming techniques or something like that. Besides, that lovely sofa of hers is a pull-out bed anyway and he always sets it up before he goes to drag her over to it from her warm bed. He doesn't really even mind that she usually just falls asleep using his arm as her pillow.

When Molly covers the late shift for a month because her colleague goes on a sabbatical, Sherlock gets antsy not being able to spend time with her. He finds that he is unable to sleep without seeing her or having her nearby. It is not a welcome revelation.

It gets to the point where he becomes snappish and irritable. When Molly has had enough of his boorish attitude she tells him to just go to his bolt hole (her place) and chill the fuck out. It is then that he blurts out that he only goes there to see her. He is upset that she didn't know or deduce this fact herself. He is upset that she never asks to come to Baker Street. That she never just shows up on a whim to see him. That she might simply _need_ to know that he was still there and okay. His mouth runs until he is spent and then he storms off without letting her get a word in edgewise.

Molly doesn't see Sherlock at all in the two remaining weeks of her night shifts. But, she does notice a few things at home… a new pair of fluffy bunny slippers, a scratching post for Toby, a man's silk robe hanging next to a new matching lady's robe, and various groceries being replenished like her favorite juice that she drinks every morning.

On the last day of her set, she returns home in the early morning ready to shower and sleep. But, there's something new on her kitchen table. It's a set of keys on a keychain with a charm of a kitten in a cherry sweater. She knows exactly who has left it for her and where the locks for these keys lie. It's the man that she can't remember ever not loving and the man that seems to have established a serious relationship with her without much input or effort on her part.

Molly knows that Sherlock is a man of few words when it comes to the inner workings of the human heart. It is a conundrum because under any other circumstances Sherlock certainly seems to like the sound of his own voice. She's not sure she'll give him a get out of jail free card in this instance.

When she trudges up to her room, she finds that there is already someone occupying her bed. The sheets are completely twisted up by the person having an obviously fitful sleep. By the time she's finished cleaning up for bed, the sun is already starting to rise, but she feels like she hasn't slept properly in weeks so she's going to just sleep until she feels like waking up.

Unfortunately, Sherlock is very good at taking up as much space as he can when he sleeps. Molly decides that he can be the little spoon today. She curls in around him as gently as she can so he won't wake. He doesn't stir when she carefully brushes the unruly, dark curls away from his face.

When she's finally slept enough, she wakes to find that Sherlock has left. The keys he's left her have been placed on her bedside table. It is obviously an invitation for her to come to Baker Street.

It is late afternoon. Sherlock watches the street from his window as he waits. His violin, abandoned due to  
his lack of concentration, sits nearby. Molly has chosen to walk since summer is at its end and the leaves are getting ready to change. Both of them, individually, recognize that like the seasons something has changed in their lives. Something that needs to change and should change.

The keys jingle in her pocket as Molly reaches in to retrieve them. She feels a flutter in her belly, but she smiles happily as she lets herself in.

-x-

Will be concluded in Part 2 - coming soon :)


	6. Home

**Home**

After three weeks of living together in a safe house designated by Mycroft (because a deranged Moriarty copycat targeted them both), Sherlock and Molly are finally allowed to go home.

Molly is confused when Sherlock asks if they will go to his place or hers. Wouldn't they just return to their respective homes, she asks. He pouts that they will be unable to continue their game of playing "Guess the famous murderer" each evening and he won't get to eat the delicious crepes she makes each morning.

Mycroft quickly grows tired of waiting for them to tell the driver of his car where to go so he steps in and tells him to send them home. Their _own_ homes.

After a couple of weeks of arguing, Molly comes around and Sherlock is quite smug and ecstatic about it. Mycroft sends his movers to collect Molly's things while she is at work since one of her reasons for being against it was packing and sorting through eight years of life lived in one flat.

She's both annoyed and tickled by Sherlock's celebration of her giving in. She supposes, in the end, the move is a good decision. The flat is considerably larger and she will save a lot on rent. Getting to spend more time with Sherlock is an added bonus (except for the times that she knows he will drive her round the bend). She recalls that John's old room is also very spacious and bright.

However, when she arrives at Baker Street after her late shift, she can see several things wrong with this living arrangement. The biggest being that John's old room has been turned into a (rather lovely) office for her. All the books are stacked and properly sorted on a large bookcase. She has a great, plush chair by the window for reading that Toby is currently occupying. Her framed credentials and artwork from her flat are all nicely hung on the wall above a desk where her laptop is set up.

The problem is… she has no bed and her clothes are nowhere to be found.

A little investigating reveals that her things have been neatly organized into the only other bedroom in the flat. And, her toiletries have been placed into the bathroom just outside of it.

Upon being questioned, it is now Sherlock's turn to be confused. After all, he has been asking her to move in with him. He never said anything about her being a flatmate occupying John's old room.

Molly is a little dumbfounded and isn't quite sure what to say even as Sherlock directs her to her belongings to get cleaned up and ready for bed. Her favorite pillow and bolster are situated on the side of the bed that she prefers and a book that she's been reading is on the bedside table next to her reading glasses.

Sherlock, with glasses perched on his nose, is already sitting in bed with his laptop. Molly stands there not exactly sure what is happening. While they were in the safe house, it did happen a few times where they chatted until very late and they fell asleep on the same bed. Waking up with someone else was nice when it wasn't awkward.

"Well?" Sherlock looks up expectantly.

She doesn't miss the smirk that momentarily shows up on his face as she tells him that they will talk about this in the morning because she's too tired to deal with things now. She suspects this was his plan all along.

Molly settles in under the covers as Sherlock puts his laptop away and turns off his lamp. She refuses to acknowledge that the bed is like a soft cloud and the sheets are silky and smooth against her skin.

"Your turn," he murmurs in the darkness as he rests on his side facing her back and her long hair fanning out over her pillow.

"Huh?" She doesn't turn to face him.

"I did the last one," he says somewhat impatiently. "H. H. Holmes, America's first serial killer. Again, no relation and you guessed correctly. So, it's your turn."

"Sherlock," she groans in frustration. "It's really late. If I had the proper energy, I'd be yelling at you right now about these living arrangements."

"Just one?" He says quietly after a few moments. "Please. It's been weeks."

"Two and a half."

"Please, Molly."

It isn't the words he says, but his tone that makes her open her eyes. It sounds like… he's missed her. She doubts he'd ever admit that out loud.

"Okay, fine." She huffs and rolls over. "Just one. And, you're making breakfast tomorrow."

His grin does funny things to her insides while simultaneously tempting her to throw something heavy at his head. But as he nods, all she can do is smile because all of this kind of feels familiar and comfortable. And, nice.

"Welcome home, Molly Hooper."

But, he's still getting an earful in the morning.


	7. A Chemical Defect (chat fic)

**A/N:** Thank you to all you kind people that have read, reviewed and followed/favorited this series! I cannot tell how much it means to me! :)

**-x-x-**

**A Chemical Defect**

**.**

**Sherlock:** Molly.

**Molly:** ...

**Sherlock:** Molly *nudges her* Wake up.

**Molly:** *grumbly* Whaaaat?

**Sherlock:** It's a chemical defect.

**Molly:** *incoherent mumbling*

**Sherlock:** *shakes her lightly*

**Sherlock: **Emotions are produced by a combination of chemicals released in the brain to encourage a sense of bonding. Early humans required more protection from harsh elements and threats of predators. It made sense to foster instinctual familial bonds.

**Molly:** *mumbles into her pillow* Okay, whatever you say.

**Sherlock:** It impairs judgement, alters your perception, and can make you do things out of character.

**Molly:** *rolls over*

**Molly:** *sighs* What are you talking about?

**Sherlock:** I'm concerned for you.

**Molly: **Okay?

**Sherlock:** There's oxytocin, dopamine, testosterone and other bonding catalysts. It's highly addictive.

**Molly:** You're worried that I might be too attached...to you?

**Sherlock:** You might not be in full control of your higher reasoning capabilities.

**Molly: **Due to the... chemicals. And, you're concerned because...

**Sherlock:** Your brain is fooling you into believing that you are in love with me.

**Molly:** And, I'm really not?

**Sherlock:** You are incapable of seeing my flaws and shortcomings.

**Molly:** *smirks* Oh, I think I can see your flaws quite well actually.

**Sherlock:** And yet, you are engaging in a relationship with me. Your judgement has been impaired.

**Molly:** *brows furrow* You think it is impossible for me to genuinely love you?

**Sherlock:** I am not an easy person to love. You, on the other hand, are a person that is very easy to become emotionally attached to. I am concerned for your well being.

**Molly:** So, you love me then?

**Sherlock: **Of course. I have made no secret of my affections for you.

**Molly: **And, that's not a chemical defect?

**Sherlock:** I am well aware of my emotions and any chemical impairments that might affect them.

**Molly:** But, I am not? If you love me, isn't it mutually beneficial that I love you back?

**Sherlock:** That is ideal.

**Molly:** How long do these chemicals impair judgment?

**Sherlock:** It varies...

**Molly: **On average then.

**Sherlock:** Up to roughly eighteen months in some cases.

**Molly:** Okay, then I don't think you need to worry.

**Sherlock: **We've only been together for six.

**Molly:** I've been in love with you much longer than that *rests her head on his chest*

**Sherlock:** ... Oh.

**Sherlock:** *wraps his arms tightly around Molly*

**Sherlock: **You're sure?

**Molly:** Yes. *kisses him on the cheek* I'm sure.

**Sherlock:** Okay, then. *kisses the top of her head*

**Molly:** *smiles* Go back to sleep, Sherlock.

=sometime later=

**Sherlock: ***whispers* Molly?

**Molly:** *sleeping soundly*

**Sherlock:** *smiles* Thank you.


	8. Broken Things (sad fic)

**A/N:** Please note that this is story is a sad one. If you have a trigger warning, please go to my profile page for the note about this story before reading it. Thanks again to all my lovely reviewers and followers/favoriters! You guys are the best!

-x-x-x-

**Broken Things**

Sherlock sends a text Molly to come to Baker Street after work. Today is the day, he decides.

He waits. And, his impatience grows after she doesn't respond. She must be busy or she hasn't checked her phone. He knows she sometimes doesn't if she has a lot of autopsies to do. But, when she does see his text he knows she will stop by. She always does.

He busies himself cleaning up the flat- he doesn't know how he let it get this messy but he rarely pays attention to that sort of thing. He notices that Mrs. Hudson has already been by to make him some tea, but he doesn't recognize the tea set and the dishes. He deduces that Mrs. Hudson must have broken the old set…She's getting on in years and her eyesight has been bothering her. He decides to pretend not to notice to save her the embarrassment.

After yet another text to Molly, he sits down for a break. He's gotten a monster headache- a migraine, perhaps. He goes to the kitchen to look for some paracetamol. John (bless him) has put a note on a bottle he must've left there for himself. It says, 'take one for headaches'. So, he does and soon he feels much better.

The day wears on and he has nothing left to do. No cases. No research (John must've borrowed his laptop again). No more mess. No inspiration to compose new music. His wrist is bothering him today anyway.

So, he spends the time thinking of Molly and what he intends to say to her. She's been such an important part of his life in last several years. An unexpected source of comfort and peace. She's helped him with cases countless times and he's found himself enjoying her company even when they've exhausted their conversation topics and there's nothing but a companionable silence between them. He's realizes that there's nothing he wants more than to see her smile. Every day, if possible. He wants her happiness. And, if he's not wrong, he thinks he can do one thing that will make her very happy. He can love her.

He closes his eyes and imagines how good it must feel to embrace her. A hug. He's kissed her on the cheek a dozen times, but an embrace— that was different. It would be too intimate. Too familiar. But, not anymore.

A door opens downstairs and heavy footfalls on the stairs tells him it's not Molly.

It's John; out of breath and looking positively dreadful. Sherlock guesses that his toddler must be running him ragged. He looks worn out and tired. He babbles on about being swamped at the clinic and apologizing for not coming sooner.

Sherlock waves him off and tells him he's not needed since there's no case today. He can go because he's waiting for Molly anyway. He types out another message to her and this time he adds a funny anecdote he read the other day. Just so he's not quite so obvious in trying to gain a response from her.

"Sherlock," John rubs his face and his eyes wearily. "She's not coming."

"What?" He rolls his eyes as he hits the 'send' button. "Of course, she is."

Before John can respond, a jingle comes from his pocket. A recognizable one.

Sherlock jumps to his feet and crosses the room. He fishes a device out of John's pocket.

"Why do you have Molly's phone?" Sherlock frowns. "Is she okay?"

John closes his eyes; his breaths sound labored and uneven.

"Sherlock—"

"Why!" He demands.

"Because you text her everyday." John tells him slowly.

"What?!" He huffs and turns away to hide his blush. "No, I do not."

"Sherlock," John holds out his hands. "Please sit down."

"Leave her phone with me." He finds his own mobile and looks up a number. "I'll call her at Bart's and ask her to stop by for it. I wanted to speak with her as well."

John moves quickly and pulls Sherlock's phone out of his hands. And then, he backs away before his old friend has a chance to react.

"She's not there, Sherlock."

He's said it so many times before. A quick, to-the-point explanation like pulling a plaster off. Or, slowly and gently. With hospital records and without. But, it never goes well.

He's not sure how much longer he can do this. Mary is worried. Everyone is worried for them both. But, he is Sherlock's best friend and he owes him so much.

_An accident._

_This day. _

_But, it's not March._

_It's December now. _

_Goldfield Syndrome. _

_She didn't make it. _

And, that's it. That's all John is able to tell him because this is when Sherlock goes quiet. So deathly quiet.

This is when he looks around and sees what he missed. He sees the things that have been broken and mended. He sees the things that have been replaced.

One look at John and he knows. The doctor's posture says it all. There is no room here for denial, bargaining or even anger.

But, he has to do something. Before his hand violently sends everything on his desk crashing to the floor, he has a sense of déjà vu. He briefly wonders exactly how many times he's done this. How many times has someone bought him a new tea set?

The quiet sets in again amongst the shambles after a long period of terrible noises that gnaws at John's insides.

He raggedly whispers a question. Always this question. Not about himself. If there's a fix or surgery or therapy. Or, what happens when he goes to sleep and he forgets they ever had this conversation. Until the next time.

_Did she know I loved her?_

John never fails to tell Sherlock what he needs to hear. It's seems like sometimes he believes him and sometimes he doesn't.

Today was bad day.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

-x-x-x-x-

-x-x-x-

-x-x-

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Note: This story was inspired by the movie 50 First Dates. Sherlock has anterograde amnesia and has lost his short term memory. He keeps reliving this particular day.


	9. Wallpaper

**A/N:** Thank you again so much for all the reviews etc! You guys are awesome! To guest reviewer Rosa, there was a note at the top of the page for the previous chapter stating that it was a **sad** story. In addition, I mentioned that people concerned or with triggers could check my profile page for more information before reading. All stories are standalone unless otherwise stated.

*Apologies for the earlier formatting issue with this chapter!

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**Wallpaper**

John Watson casually walked up to where Sherlock Holmes was sitting in the lab. The ex-army doctor had been catching up with some old colleagues while the consulting detective was finishing up with some evidence analysis. He could see now that he was done and assumed he was texting Greg with his conclusions.

As he walked up, a particular color in the messaging background caught his eye. He peered over Sherlock's shoulder to get a better look.

"Is that picture from the dodgy fundraiser we had to infiltrate with Molly last month?" He squinted and asked. "Looks like the burgundy gown she wore."

"John," Sherlock blanched. "It is exceedingly rude to look over a person's shoulder without first making their presence known."

He fumbled with his phone for a moment but managed to minimize the texting app he was using. By this time, an amused grin was forming on John's face.

"Ahem," He coughed to try to cover up the chuckle that left him. "Your…uh wallpaper background."

Sherlock's eyes went wide and he hastily went to grab the device off the counter top although he'd just set it down.

"All done then?" Molly popped her head into the lab startling both men. "Going out for lunch today so I thought I'd lock up."

The unexpected arrival of the pathologist caused an even more unexpected and rare incidence of gracelessness on Sherlock's part. The phone went sailing through the air, as if in slow motion, before it clattered to the floor and slid towards Molly. His fingers had been cold and dry and therefore without much grip (he'd later say out loud to no one in particular).

"Oh dear!" Molly gasped and quickly retrieved the phone. "I hope it's not broken."

She'd just turned her eyes towards the screen when a dark blur crossed in front of her face. The phone was plucked out of her fingers as she yelped and stumbled backwards from having her personal space invaded.

"It's fine!" Sherlock shrilly announced spinning around towards the doorway. "Not broken. Fine. Just fine. It's perfectly fine!"

"Um..okay…" Molly leaned against a table to catch her breath after being surprised by Sherlock's abrupt behavior.

"Come, John!" He barked as he exited the room. "We must go to the Yard."

"Right!" John smiled apologetically at Molly and hurriedly followed the taller man. But, he paused when he heard the calm, soothing voice of the pathologist following after them.

"Sherlock," Molly called out. She stood at the doorway of the lab as she took out her set of keys.

"Hmm?" Sherlock, his face a mask of coolness, stopped short and John nearly collided with him.

She locked the door and made her way down the short hallway while John and Sherlock waited for her to speak.

"It isn't polite to take pictures of people while they're sleeping," she smirked and didn't hide it. "But, it _is_ a nice picture though."

John's jaw dropped as he watched Molly Hooper walk past them and leave for lunch. He turned just in time to witness the rosy blush on his friend's cheeks before he, too, dashed off.

"Not a word, John."

The wide, toothy smile that John wore didn't go away until very late in the day much to Sherlock's consternation. But, John didn't mind the other man's little jabs one bit. He simply reminded himself that his friend was beginning to see that logic and sentiment weren't always mutually exclusive. And, that was a very good thing indeed.


	10. I Spy With My Little Eye (chat fic)

**I Spy With My Little Eye**

**Mary:** John, what are we doing here?

**John:** Shh, there! Look!

**Mary:** *looks through shrubs and bushes* Oh! It's Sherlock. You're spying on Sherlock?

**John:** I was afraid he was using again.

**Mary:** *grimaces*

**John:** He's not. Take a look at who's sitting next to him.

**Mary:** *smirks* Ah, I see her now.

**John:** He's been disappearing every day around this time for nearly a month so last week I started following him.

**Mary:** And, he's been coming to this park to have lunch with Molly?

**John:** *nods* But, he never says anything. He just sits there. Molly eats, reads and sometimes talks, but he never does anything. Then, she just gets up and goes back inside when she's done.

**Mary:** *frowns* Okay, that's weird.

**John:** *exasperated* Yes! He just walks up, sits down and stares straight ahead. For an hour!

**Mary:** Is this a 'mind palace' thing?

**John:** *shrugs* Dunno.

-STARTS RAINING-

**Mary:** Oh, I'm getting wet. Let's go!

**John:** Molly's getting up too... She's going inside but- look! He just grabbed her arm! *audible gasp from Molly*

**Mary:** What? *looks*

**John:** BLOODY HELL! Where'd he learn to kiss like that?

**Mary:** Oh!... Oh my... *giggles*

**John:** *smiles and chuckles* Took him long enough to get to it!

**Mary:** *impressed* Now, that's how you kiss a woman!

**John:** Guess he was just working up the nerve to do it. *still gobsmacked*

**Mary:** Okay, now let's go. I'm getting soaked. And, you don't need to be a creeper anymore.

**John:** *in awe* It's like they don't need air at all...

**Mary:** *drags John away* Time to go, dearest!

**John:** *gleefully* They don't even notice it's raining!

**Mary:** No, they definitely don't *pats him on the back as they leave*

**John:** *permanent goofy grin*


	11. I Don't Like Your Bed (chat fic)

**I Don't Like Your Bed**

**Sherlock:** I don't like your bed.

**Molly:** Well, you have a nice big, unoccupied bed at home just waiting for you, you know.

**Sherlock:** *shifts around* How do you sleep in this thing?

**Molly:** MY bed and I like it.

**Sherlock:** It's too small.

**Molly:** Hey, I'm letting you share my bed out of the goodness of my heart so you don't have to sleep on the couch again. I won't get into the fact that this is actually really awkward.

**Sherlock:** Why is it awkward?

**Molly:** Take a wild guess.

**Sherlock:** I sleep here all the time.

**Molly:** No, you don't.

**Sherlock:** Well, I suppose you are a heavy sleeper...

**Molly:** Wait, what?

**Sherlock:** *gets up* This isn't working.

**Sherlock:** *grabs overnight bag*

**Molly:** You're packing a bag for me?

**Sherlock:** *sarcastically* Well observed, Molly.

**Molly:** Are you kicking me out? I know you like to use my flat as your bolt hole, but you can't just kick me out of my own home!

**Sherlock:** I'm not. *rummages around the flat*

**Molly:** Sherlock!

**Sherlock:** Anything else you need?

**Molly:** *annoyedly* No! You were very thorough including that slightly disturbing reorganization of my unmentionables drawer!

**Sherlock:** It was a rat's nest. Honestly, Molly.

**Molly:** *fuming*

**Sherlock:** Well, let's go then. I've left Toby enough food and water for the weekend.

**Molly:** And, where exactly are we going in the middle of the night?

**Sherlock:** Baker Street, naturally. My bed is much more comfortable.

**Molly:** *blinks* But, why do I have to go too?

**Sherlock:** *confused* How else will we spend the weekend together? It's not often you have weekends off.

**Molly:** ...

**Sherlock:** Look, I am trying to be an attentive boyfriend here. I loathe that word.

**Molly:** *eyes wide* B-boyfriend?

**Sherlock:** Do keep up, Molly.

**Molly:** *giggles*

**Sherlock:** *laces fingers with Molly and pulls her out the door*


	12. The Debrief (chat fic)

**A/N: **Here's another chat fic for you all!

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**The Debriefing**

*The door to Molly's flat slams open*

**Molly:** *shrieks* SHERLOCK HOLMES! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING?

**Sherlock:** *squinty scowls as he tears around the flat in and out of all the rooms*

**Molly:** *hands on hips* WELL?!

**Sherlock:** There's no one here!

**Molly:** My! Aren't you sharp this evening!

**Sherlock:** You always come over to complain about your dates ad nauseam. You didn't come tonight!

**Molly:** *throws arms up in the air* I was tired! I had a long day at work and then my date was the modern day equivalent of a troglodyte. I just wanted to come home and go to bed.

**Sherlock:** *frowns* But, you always come over and we pick apart these dimwits you insist on dating. You complain and then you eat all my chocolate biscuits.

**Molly:** They're Mrs. Hudson's biscuits.

**Sherlock:** Irrelevant.

**Molly:** Look... *sighs* it's just... I don't need you thinking I'm any more pathetic than I already am.

**Sherlock:** *blinks* Molly Hooper. I would never-

**Molly:** Yeah, yeah. Silly Molly can't hook a decent guy if her life depended on it.

**Sherlock:** Molly... You're the most brilliant woman I kno-

**Molly:** What're you doing here anyway? You tore into this place like-

**Sherlock:** *sheepishly backs towards the door*

**Molly:** *narrows eyes* Hang on!

**Sherlock:** *looks at non-existent watch on his bare wrist*

**Sherlock:** Oh! Look at the time! Best be off...

**Molly:** *rushes to block the door* You thought I was with someone!

**Sherlock:** ...

**Molly:** *gasps* I didn't come over so you thought I'd gone home with my date!

**Sherlock:** *looks everywhere but at Molly while spluttering incoherently*

**Molly:** *pokes him in the chest* You were worried I was going to shag someone else!

**Sherlock:** Pfft! Don't be ridiculous!

**Molly:** *silently assesses him*

**Sherlock:** *perspires*

**Molly:** *arches eyebrow*

**Sherlock:** *tries to look nonchalant*

**Molly:** *smirks*

**Sherlock:** *crosses his arms defiantly*

**Molly:** Okay, fine. *shrugs and walks away*

**Sherlock:** What?!

**Molly:** You can go.

**Sherlock:** But...

**Molly:** I'm going to bed. *smirks*

**Sherlock:** But...

**Molly:** You'll have to join me if you want to analyse tonight's date. I think it might be my last one for a while.

**Sherlock:** *fights grin and loses*

**Sherlock:** Of course... but you'll have to give me full details if I am to debrief you thoroughly.

**Molly:** How thoroughly?

**Sherlock:** *locks door and walks towards Molly*

**Sherlock:** Very.


	13. Saboteur (chat fic)

**A/N:** A chat fic once again :)

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**Saboteur **

.

**Molly:** *cheeks burning*

**Molly:** *eyes on the ceiling*

**Molly:** Every single time! How? How do you even know?

**Sherlock:** *flops down on the couch and puts up feet on the coffee table*

**Sherlock:** You're implying that this was a premeditated attempt to ruin your plans for copulating with someone who barely meets the criteria for being an acquaintance.

**Molly:** *tries to ignore drops of water glistening on his lean torso*

**Molly:** 'Implying'? Are you kidding me? You walked out of my bedroom naked and sopping wet!

**Molly:** What was Brian supposed to think with you parading around… waving your… junk about?!

**Sherlock: **It's been a hot day and I required a shower.

**Molly**: You don't live here!

**Sherlock:** Eyes up here and that's quite beside the point, Molly.

**Molly: ***blushes* And Robert? Michael? And what about Tom!

**Sherlock:** *stretches languidly * I've deleted it.

**Molly:** He crawled into my bed and found you instead. And again… Naked!

**Sherlock:** Ah yes. Unexpected and unpleasant. He has cold hands. And, a one track mind.

**Molly:** Is this the equivalent of a pissing contest to mark your territory?!

**Sherlock:** *gets up to turn on a fan* It certainly is a warm night, don't you think?

**Molly:** *tries not to look*

**Molly:** *tilts head as she looks*

**Molly:** *breathlessly* It's either that or you're an exhibitionist.

**Sherlock:** *looks squarely at Molly* You should take a shower.

**Molly:** W-what?

**Sherlock:** You could have heat stroke.

**Molly:** I don't—

**Sherlock:** *pulls Molly to her feet* Better safe than sorry.

**Molly:** But…

**Sherlock:** I'd better help you in case you get faint.

**Molly:** But, that means you're going to...

**Sherlock:** Oh, and Molly. No more dates. I don't fancy other men getting to bed with me while I'm waiting for you.

**Molly:** *realization dawns*

**Molly:** *smirks as he leans down to kiss her*


End file.
